


In the Tower

by octopus_fool



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, Femslash Big Bang Yearly Challenge, Imprisonment, Mental Health Issues, Past Character Death, Strawberries, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 21:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopus_fool/pseuds/octopus_fool
Summary: Locked into Camelot's highest tower without a means of escape, Morgana has more than enough time to think.





	In the Tower

The cravings that grew in her mind were strange. A little more cheese would have been nice, or some meat, but she dreamt of strawberries. She dreamt of them night after night, the juicy sensation of biting into them, the little yellow nutlets crackling under her teeth. She woke with the sweet taste of them on the tip of her tongue. She saw them before her when she closed her eyes, the tempting red and the little yellow dimples, the foamy whiteness in the centre and the little green crowns they wore. 

She imagined them filling the room, row upon row on the floor, juicy berry lined up next to berry, an entire army of berries. And then, when the floor was covered, she would stack more berries upon her army of fruit. Layer upon layer, all the way up to the windows and then up to the roof. Perhaps she would drown in them, the red pulp making its way into her lungs while she gasped for air but only breathed in more strawberries. Now wouldn’t that be a death for the songs?

Drowned in the blood of her enemies. Nobody would ever know that her final enemy was an army of strawberries. As red as the cloaks she had come to hate.

The door creaked open. Perhaps strawberries would come flooding in. Would she struggle against the flood? She was no longer sure, maybe she would just let those songs be sung. If anyone would sing them.

But of course, there were no strawberries. There was only Gwen. Gwen smiled that smile she hoped was friendly, cheerful and caring. In truth, it was only sad.

“How are you, Morgana?” 

Morgana let her head fall back onto her bed without answering. 

“You didn’t eat your breakfast,” Gwen realised. Morgana couldn’t remember. Breakfast, dinner, what was the difference? She had dreamt of strawberries. 

Gwen set the new tray down next to the old one. “I’m leaving your breakfast here until tomorrow morning, just in case you get hungry over night. I wouldn’t wait too long with your dinner, or it will get cold.”

It never did. Morgana had spent days pondering the fact, maybe even weeks. That had been in the early days. She had long since given up on that riddle. 

“Talking of dinner: do you know what Offa did during dinner today?”

Gwen set off on her account of the day’s events, all carefully measured out so as not to include any real information, nothing Morgana could use to her advantage in any way. Morgana closed her eyes.

She was walking through a field, Gwen walking ahead of her. Gwen was laughing and calling something, but Morgana couldn’t hear what she was saying through the rustling of the wheat. No, it wasn’t wheat. They were walking through a field of strawberries, row upon row of strawberries, more strawberries than all of Camelot could eat. She plucked one of the ripe berries from a plant, stuffing it in her mouth and savouring the sweet juice filling her mouth. Gwen laughed and fed her another strawberry, playfully chiding her when Morgana nibbled on her fingers. They ate and ate, the sand still clinging to the strawberries crunching between their teeth, the warm sun shining upon them. When their stomachs hurt from all the strawberries they had eaten, they leaned back and kissed the sweet juice from each other’s lips.

It was dark when Morgana awoke and she was alone. With a sigh, she got up and went over to the tray to wash away the taste of strawberries. As she walked, she could feel strawberries squelching between her toes. 

The cabbage and potato stew was warm, like she had known it would be, even though it must have been hours since Gwen had set it there. Moonlight filtered in through the tiny windows high up on the ceiling. She wished for larger windows. Then she would be able to see what went on beyond her tower. Then, she might be able to escape.

And she had planned on being able to escape. She had grown up with the stories of the tower, how Camelot’s sorcerers before the ban on magic had fortified it and made sure nobody in it would be able to use magic in it, all to incarcerate the evil sorcerer who had brought drought and disease on the country. She had shivered to hear about the sorcerer’s evil deeds. She and Arthur had dared each other to go inside the tower, staring at the scratch marks on the walls from when the sorcerer had gone insane. 

When she discovered her magic, the tower made her shiver for other reasons. Once she had learnt to use her magic, she started putting measures in place, measures to allow her to escape should she one day be the one clawing at the walls. She had tested them and perfected them. And when the day came and she found herself locked up, none of her measures had worked, none of them had been there. There was no way anyone could have found them or removed them, not without magic. 

She pushed the thought out her head. She would not be able to solve the riddle, no more than she would be able to escape the taunt of the warm stew. When she finished her stew, Morgana looked at the ceiling. If she still had magic, she could let strawberries dance in circles under the ceiling. 

 

The thoughts of strawberries had to end. She had had other cravings in the past, but this went beyond that. She was starting to hallucinate them when she was awake. It would not be long before she started scratching at the walls herself. There was only one thing that might help.

“Could I have some strawberries next time?” Morgana asked when Gwen opened the door again. Her voice croaked from disuse.

Gwen stared at her. “Strawberries?”

“Please.” Morgana had not wanted to say the word, but the strawberries were the last thing between her and insanity. 

Gwen shook her head in disbelief. “You haven’t spoken to me in over a year and now this is what you say?”

She must have seen the look on Morgana’s face and her tone softened. “You do know that it is in the middle of winter?”

“Oh.” Morgana hadn’t realised. She had not considered that it might not be the right season for strawberries. She had not thought it would be winter, and she _needed_ those strawberries. She could feel the panic rising in her, panic that she would indeed be destroyed by strawberries, or the lack thereof.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gwen said. 

This time, Morgana tried to listen to her stories. Maybe if she concentrated on something else, she would be able to forget the strawberries. 

 

Breakfast the next morning was one of the meals brought in by a guard, not by Gwen. Morgana watched him through half-closed eyes as he set the tray down, picked up the old tray and left again as quickly as possible, even though the days when she had drawn amusement from terrifying the guards were long past. 

As soon as he closed the door behind him, Morgana jumped up and rushed over to the tray. There were no strawberries. There was, however, a small jar of strawberry jam. Morgana shovelled the jam into her mouth with her bare fingers like the mad thing she had become. The sticky redness clung in her throat, the little nutlets crackled between her teeth like they should. She cleaned out even the last bit of jam and licked the stickiness off her fingers, only starting on the rest of her breakfast when she could no longer taste even a hint of strawberry. 

When she had finished, she let the jar fall onto the ground, then flung it against the wall as hard as she could a few times. It didn’t break. Nothing brought to her tower ever broke, no matter how hard she tried. She could have used a few sharp shards.

Despite this fact, a dull kind of satisfaction settled over her. While jam wasn’t the same as fresh strawberries, it had taken the edge off her craving. 

When she fell asleep, she dreamed of snow: big, slow flakes drifting through the sky and covering the ground in a thick blanket. It clung to her eyelashes and settled in Gwen’s hair like icy feathers. Gwen laughed when Morgana tried to blow the snowflakes out of her hair and kissed them from Morgana’s lashes.

 

“Why is it not cold in here?” Morgana interrupted Gwen’s monologue about the day.

“Pardon?” Gwen looked at her in surprise.

“You said it is winter. Why is it not cold?”

“Oh, a heating system was installed in the castle, something one of the new knights found in an old book. It’s something the Romans had and Arthur decided to try it. He complained for weeks that Merlin insisted on bringing the construction workers their meals personally, claiming Merlin was neglecting his duties.”

“Am I ever glad I missed that,” Morgana said drily.

Gwen laughed. “Yes, we were all glad when it was over. It was worth it though, I think. I certainly don’t miss having cold feet.”

“I used to warm up your feet,” Morgana said. “Even though it would have been your duty to warm mine.”

Gwen sobered. “I’ve been here long enough. I have things I need to get done.”

Morgana did not object. She hadn’t meant to chat anyway.

“Thank you for the jam,” she mumbled as Gwen took the tray and left.

 

From then on, Gwen brought her strawberry jam regularly. 

“You used to bring me flowers, back when my magic first emerged,” Morgana said. 

She had dreamt of strawberries again that night, but they had eaten those strawberries in a garden full of flowers. After they had eaten their fill, Gwen had gathered a large bouquet while Morgana taught Mordred the uses of a few of the herbs growing there. They had almost been like a family in that dream, Morgana realised when she woke and something about that thought choked her up. 

“Would you prefer flowers?” Gwen asked. “It’s still winter, I’m afraid.”

“No, jam is good. I just remembered those days. I barely left my room then either, and you were my window to the outside world. Do you ever wonder what it would be like if I didn’t have magic?”

Gwen smiled and Morgana was surprised at how unguarded her expression suddenly was. 

“I suppose none of this would have happened. Perhaps.”

Morgana smiled back at her. “You would still be bringing me flowers and I’d be unaware.”

“Unaware?” Gwen shook her head, all her defences suddenly up again. “You know, I always thought that not everyone with magic would turn out this way. I don’t know which thought is worse: that the magic made you do all that or that you _chose_ to act the way you did.”

“They _made_ me. They drove me to it. Don’t you see that they wouldn’t let me be myself? They locked me up for having magic, for _being_ magic, for being something I can’t change.”

“They locked you up for your crimes. This is not an unjust punishment, all things considered. And if Arthur were to pardon you, would you not act the same way again?”

Morgana chose not to answer. Instead, she turned away and began counting strawberries. 

 

That night, she dreamt of strawberries again. This time, they were drifting upward outside the tower. She watched as they floated past the thin sliver of sky she could see through the tiny windows. 

“Open the window, Gwen!” She called, trying to reach for the strawberries.

Gwen just floated past, smiling at her and directing the strawberries in a different direction, her eyes flashing golden. 

 

“Do you have magic?” Morgana asked as Gwen set down the tray with breakfast. 

Gwen stared at her. “Why do you think that?”

Morgana took the plate, tipped the bread onto the tray and flung the plate against the wall. It clattered to the ground, unbroken. Morgana picked it up and threw it onto the ground.  
Gwen stared at her and Morgana wondered if she wanted to flee like the guards had when she had tried to intimidate them at the beginning. 

“See? It doesn’t break. Nothing in here ever breaks,” Morgana said. 

“After the show you put up when you were first imprisoned here, they definitely aren’t going to give you the best of porcelain,” Gwen said drily. 

“Not even the sturdiest of plates would never break,” Morgana retorted, throwing the plate against the wall a few more times for good measure. “Someone took out all the precautions I had once put in place for if I should ever be imprisoned in this tower. That can only have been done by someone with magic. So someone else in Camelot has magic. Is it you?”

Gwen shook her head. “There is no one in Camelot with magic, only you. I’m afraid you might be projecting.”

Morgana huffed and began eating the strawberry jam. Gwen hadn’t outright denied having magic. That was good enough for her. 

 

The dreams of strawberries continued to become less frequent, though Morgana was still sometimes haunted by them. Instead she dreamed of Gwen. And not just of Gwen. More often than not, Mordred featured in her dreams. And this night, she cooed over the baby on Gwen’s hip, held open her arms as the little tot toddled towards her and covered the cubby face with kisses.

When Morgana woke, her arms were empty. She was no longer holding a child, their child, and Gwen was no longer smiling warmly at her. Morgana curled in on herself and tried to think of strawberries instead. 

 

She must have dozed off again, for she woke when Gwen opened the door to her tower prison and set down her breakfast. 

Morgana watched as Gwen arranged the bowls on the tray, a little habit she had developed once Morgana started reacting to her bit of conversation again. 

“Do you think we would have had a family together if none of this had happened? I think I would have liked that.”

Gwen dropped a bowl with a loud clank, spilling porridge across the floor. She stared at Morgana.  
“I had a family. You killed my brother.”

Morgana cringed at this turn of the conversation. This was not how she had wanted this to play out. “It was self-defence. He was one of the knights trying to capture me, I couldn’t afford to coddle the knights.”

“You knew it was my brother! You knew what that spell would do, you knew it would kill him! You could have let him live, for my sake, but you killed him. “

“It was a fair fight and he lost. He wouldn’t have spared me if it was the other way around.”

“You have magic! Elyian stood no chance! He was the only family I had left, and you knew that!”

“You still have me,” Morgana said quietly.

Gwen stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

It was the first time in a long while that Morgana had felt any power over anyone, but what would once have been exhilarating now tasted stale.  
She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. No matter how hard she tried to think of something else, her mind kept replaying that battle and coming up with things she could have done differently. 

 

Gwen didn’t show up with dinner that evening, nor did she bring Morgana breakfast the next morning. Morgana scowled at the guards and they scurried out of the room after setting down the tray. 

On the third day Gwen didn’t visit her, Morgana knew it definitely wasn’t because just because Gwen was busy, as Morgana had been hoping against reason. As much as she had ignored Gwen for a long time, Morgana had to admit her visits gave the emptiness of her days some structure. Now her days had grown even darker and had become indistinguishable. Not even the strawberry jam that arrived for breakfast each day managed to lighten her despair. 

 

The door opened. Instead of the usual nervous guard, Merlin stood there. He had finally grown into his height. Time had been kind to him in general, but then again, Morgana supposed that when you were the king’s advisor, and be it only the most insignificant one, you could make time be kind to you.  
That changed nothing about his expression. It made Morgana grin to think that he was still afraid of her, even though she could not use her magic no matter how hard she tried. His look was that of a fish out of water and Morgana almost felt in her element again, even without magic.

“Merlin. What owes me the pleasure?”

“I just wanted to see how you are doing,” Merlin replied, still holding the tray with breakfast.

“Wonderful,” Morgana replied. “I’m just surprised you don’t visit me in my luxurious abode more often.”

Merlin finally set down the tray. “Gwen worries about you, so she sent me.”

Morgana kept her face blank. “She’s well then?”

“As well as she could be, though I wonder what you said to her that finally upset her to stop coming, after all you’ve already thrown at her.”

“Never you mind that. Is there anything else you wanted?”

Merlin shook his head and made his way to the door. Morgana thought he would just leave, but Merlin hesitated. 

“Why the strawberry jam?” 

It was Morgana’s turn to hesitate. Finally, she pointed at the scratch marks on the wall. “Do you see those? The last sorcerer locked in here made those when he went insane. It’s the small things like strawberry jam that keep me from following, at least for now.”

The look of pity that crossed Merlin’s face briefly made Morgana consider roping him into some escape scenario, but then she remembered that no matter how soft-hearted the boy was, he would always be fiercely loyal to Arthur.

“I just hope that when that stops working, I’ll find a length of rope in here, but so far, Arthur is as good at keeping me from harm as he is at keeping me from escaping.”

“You are far from needing that rope, Morgana,” Merlin replied, his voice even. “And you are mistaken about Arthur: he might be more willing to grant you pardon if you were willing to change your ways than you might want to believe.”

“He has yet to visit me.”

“He is the king. He cannot give in to every whim. He has to think of the bigger picture.”

“In other words, he has to be kept safe from the threat I might still pose.” Morgana smirked. “I can’t imagine he’ll be very pleased to see you exposed to that danger.”

Merlin sighed. “Well, somebody has to take care of these things, even if Arthur is torn between mercy and wanting to forget about it all.”

“And Gwen doesn’t count enough to protect her? You know that if something happens to her, no shackles and no magic-proof tower will save you from my wrath, so you’d better make sure she comes to no harm.”

Merlin nodded and Morgana thought she saw the hint of a grin in the corners of his mouth. “The fact that you’d never want any harm to come to her is part of the reason she is allowed to visit. That, and that it would be impossible to keep her from you.”

Morgana allowed herself to smirk when Merlin closed the door behind him. Merlin was never able to keep anything a secret. The brief conversation with him had been more informative than any of the countless conversations she had had with Gwen. It was a good thing that whoever was responsible for the security of her prison didn’t realise that. Now she just had to figure out if there was anything she could do with that information.

 

She had a lot of time to think about it, but Morgana found she did not feel like plotting an escape. Everything she had been working towards had been blown away beyond recovery, her followers dead or scattered. The only reason she could think of for escaping was to be with Gwen, but if Gwen didn’t want to see her, she might as well stay incarcerated. 

Every time Morgana did mull over the new information Merlin had given her, she felt her mind drifting towards her argument with Gwen again. She had not given much thought to Elyian, not when she killed him and not when she had been imprisoned in the tower. And he was Gwen’s brother. She knew how close they were, knew that he was part of the reason why Gwen had never wanted to leave Camelot. In that split second between recognising him in his cloak of red and casting the spell that caused the wall to collapse on him and those two other knights, had that played a roll? The thought that in her wish to have Gwen come with her, she had ended up causing her so much pain made something dark rise up in Morgana. And that she had not even realised it... the darkness turned into something queasy, a queasiness that seemed to burn through her insides. Introspective made her uncomfortable, so she tried to turn those feelings into rage. With nothing to turn against, she pummelled the walls with her fists. When she was done, she could feel the eyes of the guards watching her through the latch in her cell. Far worse was that the queasy darkness was still there. Shame, her mind supplied, and guilt.

 

That evening, she got another visit from Merlin. There was another jar of strawberry jam on his tray, even though she usually only got the jam in the mornings.

“How are you, Morgana?”

“I’m fine.” It was none of his business really.

Merlin set the tray down next to her on the ground. “I thought you might like some more jam.”

Morgana listlessly took the spoon from the tray and dipped it into the jam. 

Merlin watched her. She could sense his eyes gliding over the wall, scanning the old scratches and looking for new ones. His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “There is the death penalty on using magic. The same goes for treason, and murder. You know that. It was kindness, mercy, that changed your penalty to this, not a cruel attempt to draw out your punishment. Arthur did not want your blood on his hands.”

The sticky sweetness of the jam in Morgana’s mouth suddenly became unbearable and made her gag.

“If you want that rope, you will find it. I would stay with you if you like. Should you need it, send one of the guards for me.”

The jam clung to her tongue and the tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.

“I’m fine.”

Merlin stayed still for a moment longer, then slowly walked to the door.

“I’m sorry, Morgana.”

As the door closed behind him, the words washed over Morgana. All her past anger at him, at Arthur, at the whole of Camelot came to her mind. And she didn’t deserve an apology, not her. 

 

Days and weeks passed and her dreams twisted with snakes. They carried strawberries between their teeth and devoured them before her eyes. And when they had swallowed the strawberries, they devoured each other, their mouths opening wide around the twisted flax of their brethren. 

The guards came and went, placing trays inside her room and disrupting her sleep before taking her near untouched trays with them again. Their steps echoed in her dreams, turning into the beating hearts of the snakes. 

Until she heard footsteps that were not those of a guard. She had not expected to hear those steps again and for a moment, she wondered if they were just part of the next dream that had come to torture her. The door screeched open and Morgana opened her eyes and sat up. She did not want to be pitied, not today, not anymore.

“Gwen.”

“I brought you some more of that jam, and some cherry jam as well, in case you are getting tired of strawberry.” She had that same smile on her face, the one that was meant to be caring and was only sad. It seemed she wanted to pretend nothing had happened, but Morgana couldn’t bear that thought.

“Gwen, I am sorry. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but...”

“Don’t. Let’s just not talk about this.”

“I don’t know what came over me. I was so set on revenge, so blind towards everything that wasn’t me, that I stopped caring about anything else. I was revolving so much around my anger that I didn’t even realise how much pain I would cause you. I... I only saw him as one of the enemy. That is, I did see him. I did recognise him. I knew he was your brother and how much you cared about him. I knew all that and I didn’t hesitate to kill him. He... I knew you wouldn’t leave Camelot, wouldn’t leave him. And... I didn’t plan it, I just saw him, and that thought flashed across my mind the moment I cast that spell to collapse that wall. And then I continued in my battle and stopped thinking about it. I was so twisted around myself that I didn’t even think about it, didn’t feel guilt. I do now, more than I can tell you. I wish I could reverse everything that happened, not to escape this tower but to spare you the pain. I am sorry. I don’t want your forgiveness, I wouldn’t deserve any of it. I just think I owed you this explanation. I’m sorry.”

Gwen nodded. She turned around and left, tears streaming down her face.

 

Three days passed. They no longer flowed into each other like they had used to. Morgana sat on her bed alert. Guilt and shame still gnawed at her, but she no longer dreamt of snakes. On the evening when Gwen had visited, Morgana had politely asked her wary guards to bring her dry bread instead of good bread and strawberry jam. She chewed it contemplatively every morning, her jaws crackling under the strain. At night, her sleep was still fitful with dreams of strawberries, but once she could see the black sky shift into the dark blue of predawn and gradually change into the greenish light before sunrise, the dreams slipped away. Morgana knew she would not lose her sanity. She waited.

She did not know for what she waited. It was not Gwen she waited for, she no longer expected her to come even though she missed her. It was better for Gwen to leave her and live her life. Morgana had said what she need to say, no matter how insufficient it was. So she waited. Perhaps she was waiting for her hair to become streaked with grey, for her joints to begin creaking. It would be a long time, long enough to regret all the things she needed to regret. 

 

On the morning of the fourth day, the door creaked open and Gwen stepped in, a sprig of cherry blossoms on the tray. She nodded at Morgana but did not draw her face into that painful, sad smile. 

“Good morning, I brought you your breakfast.”

“Thank you. How are you?”

Gwen blinked at her in surprised, no longer used to politeness and pleasantries from Morgana’s side.

“Fine, thank you.” The dark rings beneath Gwen’s eyes gave her away. 

“That’s good.” Morgana suddenly wondered when Gwen had last been hugged. “I assume you have a busy day ahead of you?”

“No, not really. A few things to plan and sort through, but not much. And you know King Arthur makes sure I lack nothing.”

Morgana nodded. Even she had to admit that there were a few things her half-brother could show basic decency about.

A brief silence settled over them. 

“Had I mentioned there is going to be a big banquet soon? Arthur wants to wants to strengthen the ties to the neighbouring kingdoms.”

Morgana shook her head. It wasn’t like they had actually been talking much lately, much less about trivial things. “I assume all of Camelot is already abuzz with the preparations?”

“Yes, it’s like a second spring cleaning.” Gwen hesitated half a moment to decide on what she could tell Morgana without breaking the oath she had undoubtedly had to swear not to let Morgana find out about anything that she could use to her advantage. Then, she launched into a detailed account of the preparations. 

Morgana occasionally interrupted her to ask an additional question, but mostly, she just enjoyed the undeserved pleasure of listening to Gwen’s voice. 

“Thank you,” Morgana said quietly when Gwen left to do her part in the preparations for the festivities.

 

About a week later, as Gwen was leaving her for another night alone with her dreams, Morgana asked the question that had been spinning through her mind. 

“Why do you do this? Why do you keep visiting me after all that I’ve done, after all that I’ve put you through?”

Once, Gwen would have started bumbling at a difficult question like this, tripping backwards and forwards in order to not say the wrong thing. Now, she just went still.

“What do you think?” Gwen replied quietly.

Morgana swallowed. “You don’t have to do this. As much as I enjoy your visits, you really don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to think this is somehow your duty.”

Gwen laughed, a quiet sound that was not quite sure whether it wanted to be real laughter or an indignant huff. “I’m not visiting you out of duty. I just can’t help but care about you, despite everything.” Her face twisted into a wry grin. “Perhaps it’s also because you’re the only one I have left.”

Gwen gave Morgana a moment to respond, but when no response came, she closed the door behind her. 

 

The next morning, Morgana stopped the guard who set her breakfast inside. “I need you to take a message to Merlin. You know, big ears, gangly fellow, no sense of fashion. One of the king’s advisors.”

“Of course I know him,” The guard replied, wrinkling his forehead.

“Good. Could you please tell him that although I appreciate his offer, I won’t be needing his help. He’ll know what I mean. And tell him I send my regards to his king.”

The guard nodded.

Morgana was rather amused that her message had been cryptic enough to have the guards on her door doubled. 

 

Frustration crept in on Morgana again, but it was a different kind of frustration. After all that Gwen had done for her, had given her, not just since Morgana was confined to the tower but before that as well, Morgana had nothing she could give her in return, nothing with which to show her gratefulness and affection. And she definitely wasn’t going to ask Merlin for help with this.

She paced her room, taking in the bareness of it. Morgana’s eyes fell on the straw mattress and she paused, finally having found a solution.

 

The next time Gwen visited her, Morgana greeted her with a bouquet of flowers she had made from straw.

“Thank you for everything you have done for me. I figured it was high time _I_ gave you some flowers.”

Gwen blushed as she took the bouquet. “Thank you, but it wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“It was necessary, it was the very least I owe you. But tell me, how did the big banquet go?”

Still running her fingers over the bouquet of straw, Gwen launched into an account about the feast.”

 

Morgana knew something was up the moment she saw Gwen’s smile. It wasn’t the usual sad smile, it was the smile from back in the days, the smile she had tried to keep from her face when she had a special surprise for Morgana. 

Gwen had been smiling the sad smile less and less in the past weeks, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards in genuine joy when Morgana presented her with one of the strange straw animals she had created, commented drily on the things Gwen told her were happening in Camelot or made a joke about the habits of the guards. But this smile alone was better than anything Gwen could be hiding behind her back when she entered the tower this afternoon. Morgana could feel her heart go warm at the sight and her own face spread into a ridiculous grin.

“To what do I owe a visit at such an unusual hour? Is Camelot burning down? Does Gaius need someone to try the terrifying results of a new recipe that he tried his hand at? Or did you just miss me?”

Gwen laughed. “Perhaps the last one, a little. But guess what I found in the castle garden!”

“A dragon egg?”

“No, of course not.”

“A treasure of gold?” Morgana asked.

“Unfortunately not, no.”

“Gwaine exploring the dark recesses of the newest kitchen maid’s skirts?”

Gwen giggled. “Well, that too, actually, but that wasn’t what I meant. Try again.”

“Pixie dust?”

“Oh come on, you aren’t even trying!” Gwen complained. 

She pulled her hand out from behind her back and revealed a strawberry, ripe, red and perfect.

“I’m pretty sure the cook was saving this first strawberry of the year for Arthur’s dessert this evening. Pity I got there first. She’ll just have to live with it, as will Arthur. There will be more soon, after all.”

Morgana laughed. “I like this rebellious streak in you!”

“I thought you might. And I thought you might like finally eating a fresh strawberry.”

“Let’s share it,” Morgana said.

“But I brought it for you,” Gwen replied.

“And I want to share it with you. Please.”

“Alright,” Gwen conceded, carefully cutting it in half with her knife, which she had taken inside the room for once, and handing Morgana the slightly larger half. “Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” Morgana retorted. “For stealing for me and, you know, everything else.”

Smiling at each other, they raised the halves of the strawberry to their lips and ate them. The strawberry was delightfully juicy and much sweeter than Morgana would have expected the first strawberry to be. She closed her eyes as the little yellow seeds crackled between her teeth. 

When she opened her eyes again, Gwen was watching her. 

“I think I want to kiss you,” Gwen whispered and Morgana could see her eyes widen when she realised she had said that out loud. 

“I would very much like that,” Morgana breathed. 

And while the strawberry had been sweet, it was nothing compared to the kiss that followed.


End file.
